


The Mysterious Case of Hawke's Libido

by Nobbie (sirconnie)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Black Female Hawke - Freeform, Blue Hawke, Hawke Has Issues, Multi, Pansexual Hawke, Sexual Frustration, but not really it's hard to explain, essentially a case of an incredibly belated puberty, leandra is not the best mother, merrill is the voice of reason, point is she's suffering, there are a bunch of ships up there bcs hawke ogles all of them and is basically dtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-10-24 17:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirconnie/pseuds/Nobbie
Summary: With her sister in the Circle and her brother with the Wardens, Hawke has nothing but free time. Free time to try and understand why she's suddenly seeing her friends in a new way and why her body is turning against her. She's either dehydrated, dying, or going through a very,verylate puberty. Signs point to dying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey! here's a multichapter hawke fic where she basically develops a crush on almost everyone she knows. it's primarily a comedy but knowing me there'll be some romance thrown in there :3 under a new pseud because who's even into steven universe anymore?? nobody that's who

 

“You look thin.”

“For the last time, no, I don’t. I think I might’ve gained weight since I got here.”

“Doubtful,” Hawke grumbles, looking her sister over with critical eyes from across the table. The awful robes they’ve given her hang more loosely than they did the last time she was allowed a visitor. Her cheeks don’t look sunken, but there’s a certain pointiness to her shoulders that used to be soft pudge just weeks before. It is very disturbing. “You can tell me if they’re not feeding you. Or hurting you, are they hurting you? If they’re hurting you, I’ll--”

“Perrie.” Bethany raises a hand to stop her, looking exasperated. “I already told you, no one’s hurting me. And they feed me just fine. Better than what we had in Gamlen’s place, anyway. I’m not lying,” she adds when Hawke only looks more suspicious. “Look, don’t worry about it. How’s the estate?”

“ _Don’t worry?_ ” Hawke scoffs, ignoring the question. “You can’t be serious. How can I not worry when you’re in this Maker-damned place? They dragged you out of our home and are keeping you here forever, I’m surprised they don’t constantly have you in chains!”

“Sister, _please_ ,” Bethany says with a pointed look at the Templar stationed on the far wall, watching them through dull eyes. Hawke regards him disdainfully - though she’d mostly been pretending he wasn’t there, she's far from accepting his presence. The sight of the gleaming white armor fills her with a familiar dread that makes her revert to a frightened teenager, head brimming with horror stories of the Kirkwall Circle. The very idea that her little sister is here, the place their father had fought to escape, never fails to throw her into a whirlwind of shame and anger, one that only amplifies at the Templar’s vigilant glare.

“First of all, they hardly _dragged_ me,” Bethany says, her voice lowering slightly. “Second, I’m never in chains, I haven’t seen any evidence of chains.”

“Of course not, now that you’re a _noble_ ,” Hawke says glumly. “I really hate that they’re only treating you like a person because our name has gold behind it. What of all the other mages? The ones from poor families?”

“I know.” Bethany looks down, her hands squeezing at her upper arms where they rest folded on the table. “I’m doing what I can for them, which isn’t much, unfortunately. I’ve met so many people from all different places. I’ve never been around this many mages.”

“Are they like Father said?”

“Sort of. Most of them have been in the Circle their whole lives and they can’t believe how long it took for me to be in one. They’re a bit fascinated with me.”

“That’s sad.”

“Listen, Perrie.” Bethany reaches across the table to hold Hawke’s hand, meeting her eyes squarely. “I’m fine. Really. So, just--stop worrying about me and look after Mother. She needs you more than I do.”

Hawke grimaces, but says nothing. She doesn’t tell her that their mother hasn’t spoken more than three words at a time to her since she returned from the Deep Roads. She doesn’t mention that she would sometimes stay away from Gamlen’s home and then the estate for days to escape the silent blame, the unspoken accusations in her mother’s eyes in those fleeting moments she allows Hawke to meet them. Or how hard it’s become to disagree with her.

“She doesn’t need me as much as you think,” she says instead, squeezing Bethany’s hand. “But, yeah, alright. Fine.”

“Do you mean it?”

“No, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Bethany grins, pulling away. “Any more word from Carver?”

“Nothing. I suppose he figured sending along one letter telling us he’s alive is more than enough.” Hawke rolls her eyes. “Been weeks since I wrote him back and my expectations have never been lower.”

Bethany laughs. “Warden or not, he never changes.”

“It’s almost comforting. He’ll write back soon, especially after reading your letter.”

“He’s probably just thinking of an appropriate way to yell at us through written word.”

“Knowing him, he’ll be creative about it.”

“How’s everyone else?” Bethany asks. “Aveline and the others.”

“They miss you. Especially Merrill. She feels terrible about what happened.”

“Oh, Merrill. I already told her it’s not her fault.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “I’m glad she was there for you, at least.”

“Yeah. She’s a good one.”

“The rest of them are fine. Aveline’s been hard at work with the City Guard, so I haven’t seen her much. Anders says ‘hi’, by the way.”

“Tell him I say ‘hi’ back. How is Fenris? Oh, stop it,” Bethany says when Hawke glares. “You’re not still angry with him, are you?”

“He shouldn’t talk to you that way.”

“What way? He just asks questions.”

“Questions that he doesn’t need answers to.”

“Enough already. It’s not like he put me in here himself.”

“Might as well have.”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

“I know,” Hawke admits with a defeated sigh. “Varric thinks he shouldn’t have brought me along to the Deep Roads.”

“Well, that’s daft. Is he blaming himself, too?”

“A little.”

"He shouldn't. There was no way I'd have stayed hidden forever, you know that. This was going to happen eventually."

"How _did_ it happen, anyway?" Hawke asks, leaning in closer. "You've never had any trouble with control. How is it that you'd just randomly lose your grip?"

Bethany shrugs. "Who knows? Magic can be unpredictable."

"Sure, but of all times, why did it happen when I was gone?"

"Bad luck, I suppose. Which is why I hope you told Varric he’s being ridiculous.”

“He’s not entirely wrong, though, is he?” Hawke says, looking pained. “If I’d been here--”

“Perrie, no.”

“If I was there, this never would’ve happened.”

“We’ve been over this,” Bethany says tiredly. “I would've gotten caught regardless. It’s not your fault. It was nobody’s fault. So, stop it, alright? For me?”

“You’re asking a lot today.”

“And you’re gonna do all of it. Now, tell me about the estate. Is it gorgeous?”

Hawke laughs. “Not really. The slavers who had it last didn’t care much about upkeep. It’s been a nightmare making it livable.”

“I’ll bet Mother was beside herself.”

“You’d think so, but--”

“Time’s up.”

Hawke turns to glare at the Templar as he walks to their table, armor clanking all the way. He doesn’t pay her any mind, looking only at Bethany as he says, “I will escort you back to your chambers now.”

Bethany nods at him and gives Hawke an apologetic look. “This was nice. Your letters are great, but it’s better to see you.”

“Yeah,” Hawke says, eyebrows furrowing and hands getting warm as her magic starts building at the very tips of her fingers. She clasps them together hard, pushing it down. “I’ll come ‘round more. Maybe I’ll bring some of the others along.”

Bethany smiles. “I’d love that.”

They both stand and move around the table, coming together for one last hug. Hawke bends to make up for the height difference and squeezes tight, firmly ignoring how much less there is of her in favor of trying not to cry as she holds her sister for the last time for what might be months. Bethany hugs back just as hard, her thick arms almost painfully tight around Hawke’s waist. They separate much too soon, but not entirely. Bethany holds her hands in between both of hers, smiling softly up at her.

“I’m alright, Perrie,” she says again. “Carver’s alright, too. Mother’s gonna be alright now that we have the estate and that means you can take care of yourself for once.”

Hawke smiles wryly. “Do I not take care of myself now?”

“Not the way you should. Soon enough, we’re all gonna be out of your hands and you’ll be free to do things.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Make bad choices, sleep in, kiss someone.” Bethany grins. “You can do whatever. And I want you to focus on that, alright? Focus on doing whatever.”

“I’m still not sure I understand, but fine.”

“Good.” She pulls away. Hawke watches as the Templar ushers her out of the room quickly, hating him with every step. She sucks in a long pull of air and leaves before the other Templar she knows is outside orders her to. She marches out of the Gallows, avoiding the eyes of all the other monsters in shining armor as she goes.

Once she’s out and back in the relative safety of the docks, she releases a long-held breath. She doesn’t know if not breathing helps her cover up her magic, but she’s been doing it since she was a kid and it hasn’t failed her so far. It makes her lightheaded, though, so she leans on a shadowy wall and gives herself a minute to recover.

She thinks of Bethany’s words and isn’t sure she likes them. Do things? What can she do that she couldn’t before? She’s slept in before, she’s quite sure of that. She makes bad decisions almost daily, so that isn’t it. Kiss someone? Who? And why? In what context? The more she thinks about it, the more she wonders if Bethany had been delirious due to malnourishment. Which makes her worry - the exact opposite of what her little sister wants, apparently.

She isn’t wrong, though. Bethany is safe, even if it is a very loose interpretation of the word. Carver’s off on his own and Hawke has sparred with him enough times to know it’ll take a lot to strike him down. She’s seen him at Ostagar, she knows he can handle himself. Mother is fine. She got her house back and she’s not crying anymore, so she’s fine.

Where does that leave Hawke? Her major responsibilities, her family, have all but resolved themselves. At the very least, they’re well in the process of it, and they’re doing it without her. She’s gone from being the Hawke family’s stone center to being largely unnecessary. And all she had to do was nearly die in a darkspawn-infested cave.

Hawke steps away from the wall and starts walking back home, feeling just a little bit lighter. She’s still dragging a bit of weight - her persistent worries - but they’re not smothering her like they used to. She does have a lot more freedom now, the most she’s had since her father passed. Her steps start to have the smallest bit of bounce in them. She looks around the city and feels like she’s really seeing its beauty for the first time, rats and all. It’s opened up for her, full of opportunities and avenues she’d never have dreamed of going down until now. She can do anything.

She walks into Hightown with that bewildering thought and resolves to figure the rest out later. She’s done realizing things for now, that was exhausting.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now the disaster begins....this chapter will hopefully give y'all a good idea of what's to come in this fic lmao hope you like it!

 

Hawke sets the dresser down on the floor, letting out a breath that’s just as heavy. “There. It should be fine here, right?”

“Wrong,” Aveline says, clapping dust off her hands on the other side of it. “I’m not one for decorating, but even I know the closet shouldn’t be in the middle of the room.”

“Can’t we take a break, at least?”

“Fine, but make it quick. I’ve got to get back to the Keep and we still have to bring up your desk and your mother’s things before she gets back from your uncle’s.”

“Work, work, work,” Isabela says from where she’s lounging on one of the armchairs. “Why don’t you take a day off for once? Helping Hawke move in is much more fun.”

“And how would you know?” Aveline grouses. “You haven’t lifted a finger since you got here.”

“You two are doing just fine on your own.” Isabela stands and walks across the room to hop onto the bed, another thing she hadn’t helped with. She leans back on her hands and eyes them both, lips curving into a smile. “And besides, I’d rather watch the show. I’d forgotten how _meaty_ you Fereldens are. Go pick up some more things.”

Hawke laughs while Aveline fixes her with another scowl, at least the third one today. Isabela winks in response, displeasing her further. Hawke pats the dresser to get her attention and stop this battle before it starts, even if she’s not ready to heave this bulky thing all the way to the far wall. They finally drop it and push it securely against the wall before moving on to the desk and everything else that needs to be moved up the stairs that have never seemed like such a trek until now.

“Remind me again why you invited the pirate,” Aveline says as they approach the second dresser.

“I saw her on the way back from Gamlen’s,” Hawke says, stretching her shoulders.

“She’s not even helping.”

“She sort of is. I like having her around.”

Aveline sighs. “The company you keep, I swear.”

“Oh, she’s not that bad.”

“She’s a scoundrel,” Aveline says flatly. “And a horrible influence on you.”

Hawke scoffs. “I’m a grown woman, Aveline.”

“She’s a bit more grown than you are. How can you stand the way she looks at you?”

“What way?”

“You know, that _look_.” She grimaces. “The one where she’s undressing you with her eyes.”

“That’s how she looks at _everyone_.”

Aveline lets out a disapproving huff. “Maybe.”

“She’s a good person, Aveline.” Hawke drops her arms and faces her. “You know she helped me get through losing the twins.” Hawke sees her face soften and moves on quickly, regretting bringing the topic up, “ _And_ she’s kept the both of us alive dozens of times. So, be nice.”

Aveline heaves another great sigh. “Oh, fine. But if she tries anything on you, I’ll break her neck.”

Hawke laughs. “Don’t worry, Guard-Captain, that’s never gonna happen. Now, come on, this thing isn’t gonna lift itself.”

They get the closet up quickly, the only hitch being when it got stuck in the door for about ten minutes. Soon after that, Aveline takes her leave and the rest of the work is left to Hawke. To her credit, Isabela does lend a hand and arranges the furniture surprisingly well in the other room.

“I don’t know why you won’t just pay people to do all this heavy lifting,” she says as she places a nightstand next to the bed. “It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

“My mother doesn’t trust the people I tried to hire,” Hawke says breathily from where she lies spread-eagle on the carpeted floor, too exhausted and sweaty to throw herself on her mother’s bed like she wants. “Thought they’d break something.”

“And you can’t just pay to get it fixed?”

“Some of these are heirlooms. Important Amell stuff. Can’t let just anyone handle them.”

Isabela scoffs. “Right, how could I forget? I expect she won’t let you just magic all this up either?”

“I’m not good at that kind of magic. I usually just set fires.”

“Not sure that’s a bad thing.” Hawke tilts her head up to see her looking down at a clay vase with a deep grimace. “A little burning would do this stuff some good.”

Hawke lets out a weak laugh, closing her eyes when it somehow makes her muscles twinge. She hears the soft sound of boots walking across the carpet and stopping near her head. She opens her eyes and sees Isabela smiling wryly down at her along with a fairly good glimpse of the view under her tunic just before Hawke slams her eyes shut again.

“Sorry,” she says automatically.

She hears Isabela laugh. “For what? They’re just smallclothes.”

“I still shouldn’t have looked.”

“You’re adorable. Alright, alright, I’ll move.” More pattering of boots around her head and stopping near her legs. She hears some quiet rustling and opens her eyes again just in time to watch Isabela’s knees land fluidly on either side of her hips, straddling her easily. She settles down on Hawke’s lap and smirks down at her.

“Better?” she asks, voice low as she tilts her head, making her dark hair curl interestingly over her shoulder.

“I--uh,” Hawke replies intelligently, Isabela’s simmering eyes immobilizing her and igniting a heat that doesn’t feel like the usual magical kind. The feeling lies in her stomach, radiating in her thighs under Isabela’s soft weight all the way to her fingertips. It’s an unfamiliar sensation that only gets stronger when Isabela leans forward, placing her hands on either side of Hawke’s head so she’s on all fours above her.

“Should I move again?” she breathes, still fixing her with that heated stare. Underneath her current mental haze, Hawke knows she can get out of this if she wanted. While Isabela is hefty, Hawke could easily throw her off if she needed to. But, then, she won’t need to. Isabela isn’t trapping her and Hawke knows just one word will have Isabela moving away from her, no harm, no foul. It would be so easy to say something right now and end it.

She can’t seem to find any words, though. She’s just _staring_ up at her like a fool, painfully aware of how ridiculous she must look, but powerless to do anything about it. She’s never been in this kind of predicament before and she can’t understand what’s happening in her mind, in her body. Before she can even begin to catch up, Isabela huffs out a laugh and moves away.

“Alright, then,” she says, deftly getting off her knees and walking away, leaving Hawke lying there, stunned and somewhat disconnected from her body. Once she comes back, however, her face feels like it’s going to burst into flames. With her history, that’s a very strong possibility, so she holds her breath and wills the building magic away, raising her hands off the carpet to avoid letting sparks out on it.

She hears Isabela chuckling somewhere around her and it doesn’t help the blushing problem. Thank the Maker and her parents for giving her dark skin, or else she’d be _really_ embarrassed. Her magic dissipates and she takes a much needed breath, her heart thudding hard in her chest and her head swimming even worse now.

And she’s still on the floor. Once she finds her limbs, she scrambles back onto her feet and clears her throat, promptly feeling like an ass for doing so.

“I’ll just, um,” she starts, her voice wobbly and making her silently pray to Andraste to open up her mother’s bedroom floor and let her be swallowed up in the abyss. Anything to escape this painful situation and Isabela’s visible amusement. “I’ll--go and see if Bodahn needs help with...things.”

“I should be going anyway,” Isabela says, putting down a statuette she’d been fiddling with. She ambles over to the door, lightly patting Hawke’s shoulder as she passes with another quiet laugh. Hawke watches her go, her eyes roaming from her wide shoulders down to her round, swinging hips over strong thighs. Just before she disappears out of the room, Isabela peeks at her over her shoulder, throwing her a knowing glance along with another sharp smile.

It takes Hawke an entire ten seconds to find her body again with a jolt. She brings her hands up to her feverish face, but it doesn’t help. Her heart is still beating frantically and her whole body feels like it’s going to explode in a fiery blaze and it all started when Isabela sat her soft, perfectly round body on top of hers. She’s never noticed how pretty Isabela’s eyes are, or how enticingly thick her lips are. Now all Hawke wants to do is kick herself for not saying anything, for not _touching_.

But--when did she start wanting to touch? She’s never felt this way, not about anyone. She didn’t feel it when she met Isabela nor the several times they saw each other afterwards. She didn’t even feel it when she’d come back from the Deep Roads and the only thing keeping her from a nervous breakdown due to losing both her siblings in one fell swoop was Isabela dragging her to the tavern and forcing her to talk it out. Hawke had been grateful, she still is, but never like this. She’s never thought about the impossible curve of Isabela’s hips as she’d walked away, how the ends of her tunic flapped just at her upper thighs and barely concealing what Hawke had only seen by accident, but now only wishes to see again and then do a lot more than just see.

She fists her hands in her cropped hair and lets out a quiet, panicked sound. What is _happening?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! leave a comment or a kudos if you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's an update with another friend for hawke to get all hot under the collar about >:3c also this chapter's relatively short compared to my usual works, and that's gonna be a pattern for this fic. isn't gonna be another slow-burner, it's mainly comedic with some f/f romance tossed in there. there's pieces of a larger plot, but this is really about hawke wanting to bang her friends which is A++ characterization tbhhhh....
> 
> hope you like it!

Hawke walks into the Viscount’s Keep, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each step. She isn’t sure if it’s the appraising looks from the nobles littering the throne room or the scratchy material of the new coat her mother had foisted on her, but coming to see Aveline has never been more awkward. It even feels weird to have a dagger strapped to her waist, even if most people seem to assume that it’s just an accessory. It practically is, the blade being so tiny and decorative she isn’t even sure she can hurt anyone with it.

Not that she’s needed to. Since she’s started living in Hightown, she’s come across almost no trouble, no drunks or random thugs attacking her for her possessions or just to try and take down someone so much bigger than them. She has to go out and actively look for trouble these days and it both pleases and disturbs her. She’s not used to having so little to do.

Which is why she’d been overjoyed when Aveline had asked her to come to the barracks the night before while Hawke paid for another round of drinks. She’d jumped at the chance, of course. The thought of finally getting to _move_ is enough to clear away a portion of her discomfort and hop up the stairs. Thankfully, none of the nobles deign to speak to her, only eye her as she goes by and pretends not to notice. She enjoys this time of relative peace while she can, knowing her Amell ancestry will come back to bite her eventually. She strolls into the Guard-Captain’s office and finds her friend sitting at her desk. She doesn’t get a word out before Aveline speaks.

“Morning, Hawke,” she says, eyes down as she scratches a pen across some paperwork. “You’re predictably early.”

Hawke grins and moves to stand across from her. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You have heavier steps than most people. Even in those fancy boots.” She finally glances up to look her over. “I see she got you to hold still long enough to dress nice.”

“That she did. Apparently, what I usually wear isn’t befitting to someone with a title.” Hawke shrugs. “Suppose I’ll just have to buy nicer armor.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve got a nice set for you right there.” Aveline jerks her chin in the direction of the far wall and Hawke turns to look - there stands a gray suit of armor that looks well-worn and older than she is. She gives Aveline a questioning look and Aveline drops her pen to stand.

“This is what I called you here for,” she says as she walks around the desk, her own, much newer armor glinting in the light and clanking as she goes. “I need you to help me train some of the new recruits.”

Hawke balks. “Sorry?”

“The recruits and current guards need training and I need someone to spar with me.”

Hawke laughs and points at herself. “ _Me?_ ”

“Yes, you. Don’t sell yourself short, you’re as good as any of my guards.”

“I doubt that. You’d be better off asking Isabela.”

Aveline frowns. “You and I both know that that’s not happening.” Hawke still looks skeptical. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, you weren’t my first choice. I’d get Carver if I could.”

“He’d have said no anyway.”

“Probably. After him, the next best thing was Fenris, and I can’t find him anywhere.” She lets out an annoyed huff. “You haven’t seen him, have you? Did he come to the pub when I left last night?”

“No. I still think this is a bad idea. I’m nowhere near good enough to spar with you.”

“You don’t have to be,” Aveline says with a laugh, either not noticing or ignoring Hawke’s quick answer to her question. “It’s only a teaching tool. Just do your best and try to remember what I’ve taught you. Alright?”

Hawke sighs. “Fine. Better than sitting around at home.”

“Great. Get yourself sorted and I’ll get the guards ready in the courtyard. Weapons will be waiting for you outside.” Aveline leaves and Hawke can already tell today’s going to be painful for her.

Well, no way around it. She pulls the armor off its stand piece by piece and dons it with little trouble. The chestpiece is a little roomier than she’d like, but not enough to be a hazard. She rotates her shoulders and runs in place to get a feel for it, make sure the armor can move with her. It’s not very stiff at all, having been worn by dozens of people from the feel of it. She steps out of the office and takes a sword and shield from the row laid out for her on the table, fastening them to her back.

She walks out of the barracks through the backdoor as she’s done a million times before and finds the normally empty or thinly populated courtyard now full of guards standing in neat rows with Aveline facing them at the front, hands behind her broad, straightened back. She looks so strong like this, with her armor emphasizing her thick shoulders connected to powerful arms. Hawke remembers those arms from the pub last night, when Aveline had foregone her armor in favor of a light leather top not unlike the one she was wearing the day they met outside of Lothering. Hawke hadn’t given them much notice then, having been distracted by Isabela’s presence. She’s seeing them now like they’re right in front of her, freckled and burly, smaller than her own, but impressive all the same. She wonders what those muscles would feel like around her waist, tight and--

“Hawke!” Aveline calls, making her jump. “Come on, let’s get started.” Hawke hastens to obey, going to her side with her eyes down and face burning. She nods in greeting when Aveline introduces her, but she’s barely paying attention to the words in the midst of her growing panic.

It’s happened again. And with _Aveline_ , of all people, one of her closest friends in the entire world. She’s never had these feelings toward her, not even for a _second_ , where are they coming from now? She feels deviant, like an awful pervert for looking at her friend this way. The guilt weighs heavily on her up until she’s told to draw her weapon and the sparring match starts.

After no small effort, Hawke regains her focus, deflecting Aveline’s powerful blows and getting her own swipes in. She keeps her feet wide and steps lightly the way she’s been taught, her usually hefty movements gone and replaced with a swordsman’s gait. She focuses on defense for a majority of the fight so far, wincing with every impact of Aveline’s sword against her shield and waiting for her moment to strike. When it comes, she attacks, bashing at Aveline’s shield and pushing her back. She brings her sword down hard just as Aveline shoves forward, making them clash and leaving them straining against each other, eye to eye.

Hawke groans, adjusting her footing when she starts to shake. Aveline doesn’t give in, pushing at her and making her fight for balance. They’re in a deadlock, the fight coming down to a single battle of wills. In the shadow of the trembling shield, Hawke sees Aveline’s mouth curve in a smirk.

“You’ve gotten better,” she says, barely sounding winded. “Almost had me a moment ago.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Hawke grits out through a clenched jaw. “I think I’d like to do it again.”

“I invite you to try.”

Hawke gives her a toothy smile that falters at the sight of a bead of sweat falling from her temple. It goes down her freckled face and disappears in her scarf, but not before sliding over her square jaw, where Hawke’s attention lands and takes root. She finds herself wondering if that hard angle is as sharp as it looks and doesn’t notice her lowered guard until it’s far too late.

Aveline drives forward _hard_ , shoving her back and giving her no time to scramble for footing. Hawke deflects her ferocious slashes with her sword, forgetting to bring up her shield in her ruffled state. She’s forced into retreating, stepping back clumsily in the face of Aveline’s unrelenting attacks. Before she can bring herself back in action, Aveline hits her with a spiraling strike, catching her sword at a bad angle and swiping it out of her hand easily. Hawke can’t raise her shield fast enough and Aveline gives her a great kick to the chest, knocking the breath out of her and sending her slamming into the stone ground noisily. Hawke’s eyes momentarily clamp shut from pain and she feels the sword at her throat before she sees it.

“Well, done,” Aveline says from above her. Hawke can’t help but notice the morning sun gleaming in her chestplate and giving her hair a fiery glow. “Keep improving and you might get a hit on me.”

Hawke lets out a shaking laugh as she withdraws her blade and extends a hand to help her up. When Hawke gets back on her feet, Aveline addresses their audience.

“Alright, guards,” she barks, sounding as energized as when she’d started fighting. “I want everyone sparring in pairs. Don’t forget to use your shield and keep your footing, the thieves in this city won’t go as easy as I did. Get going.” The guards pair off quickly and the courtyard is soon filled with the sound of clashing swords and shuffling boots.

Hawke steps away from the noise, catching her breath and feeling a growing disquiet in the pit of her stomach that hurts only a little less than her aching chest. She leans against a wall and watches Aveline make the rounds, instructing the occasional guard by physically moving their arms or feet in the right position. Her big hands straighten a guard’s shoulders and Hawke imagines those hands on her face, square fingers tangling in her hair and rough, calloused palms scraping at her cheeks soothingly.

She covers her heated, sweaty face with a gauntleted hand and groans.

This is wrong. She can’t look at Aveline this way. It’d been one thing to get flustered like this with Isabela when the woman was crawling all over her, but this is completely out of line. Aveline hasn’t even done anything to invite it, Hawke has no reason to see her like this, to _want_ her like this. The guilt makes her stomach churn until the sound of someone quietly clearing their throat catches her attention.

“Serah Hawke?” A familiar guardsman approaches her, looking concerned. “Are you alright?”

Hawke drops her hand and steps away from the wall with a weak smile, the best she can muster right now. “Hello, Guardsman Brianna. I’m fine, just a little winded.”

“Ah, the Guard-Captain gave you a hard time, did she?” Brianna chuckles. “She’s a force, that one.”

“Too right. Shouldn’t you be out there with the rest of the guards?”

“We’ve got an odd number today and the captain suggested I spar with you, if that’s alright.” She raises her sword and shield slightly.

“Ah, I think I’ll be taking my leave, actually,” Hawke says with another less than convincing smile. “I’ve got a, uh, prior engagement that I’m very late for. You should spar with Aveline instead, it’ll be more educational.”

She shuffles on her feet awkwardly, making her armor grind. “Oh, well, I _would_ , but she’s--she’s too busy, I couldn’t impose on her.”

“No, no, you could. And you should. Go, impose.”

“Are you certain you--”

“Quite certain!” Hawke leans her sword and shield on the wall and hastens back inside, talking over her shoulder as she goes, “Tell Aveline I said sorry! Gotta go!”

She rushes back into Aveline’s office and tears off the armor before striding out of the Keep, keeping her eyes forward and pace quick, but not so much that she looks as frantic as she feels. She’ll never know if the nobles notice her stampeding past them, her mind is too frazzled to focus on anything other than getting as far away as she can.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting out of hand lmaooo and yet the worst is yet to come. guardsman brianna is a made up character that i'm using to replace donnic hehe let's be real aveline should've married a lady. this is just me rectifying her story. please, please, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! thanks for reading!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god another update within a few days what in the HELL?? i just had this burst of motivation and managed to edit it decently enough to wanna post it! this one is slightly longer and it also includes a Boy which is weird for me but well writing is suffering. please excuse any typos i missed bcs i'm sure there's a lot
> 
> here comes another episode of Endless Sexual Frustration! enjoy!

It’s days before she can face Aveline again, and even then she’s only looking at her shoulder. Aveline can tell there’s something wrong, because of course she can, but Hawke avoids her questions and concerns, never giving away her secret shame. She declines any of the jobs Aveline gives her and decides to go looking on her own, managing to find trouble quickly while ambling through Lowtown.

Varric comes along sometimes, and she’s eternally grateful to find that he doesn’t get her all hot and bothered. With him, she’s comfortable and normal and after some time, she starts to hope that maybe this sudden bout of madness has run its course and she can be around her friends again.

Then Isabela smirks at her and she’s thrown right back to square one.

She groans heavily now, taking the long way to the Chantry. She doesn’t understand what’s going on with her head or body. She thinks it’s familiar, but if she’s ever been in this situation before, it was brief and quickly put aside for more important things. It’s getting more and more difficult to suppress now, though, and her urge to run at the sight of Isabela or Aveline is making her life more complicated than it needs to be.

At least it’s only them. Varric has been proven to do nothing for her and so has Anders - she’d visited his clinic cautiously, but she’d felt nothing out of the ordinary, thank the Maker. She still likes him and his sweet brown eyes haven’t escape her notice, but that’s the extent of it. Hawke’s starting to think it’s only her female friends drawing these feelings out of her. She resolves to avoid Merrill, the very idea of being attracted to her tiny friend making her shudder.

She hasn’t seen Fenris, but that’s for the best. She doubts she’ll feel any type of way for _him_ , but she’d prefer he continue to keep his distance, just in case.

She shakes the thought out of her head - no need to dwell on that. She’ll just keep shoving onwards and wait until this annoying storm of fancies passes. She’s fine. No need to worry.

She sighs - who is she kidding? She can’t keep doing this, not unless she wants to cut-off her friends. This isn’t going to work. She comes to a stop in front of the Chantry, taking a moment to just look. The structure towers over every other building in Hightown, equal to the Viscount’s Keep in size and domination.

Hawke stares up at the doors, wondering. She’s never been much for religion. Her parents were casual about it at best and she hasn’t stepped into the Chantry for anything other than a job. She’d only come to see Sebastian, but she could try getting another use out of the place. Maybe her case requires some divine intervention?

Or maybe she’s just desperate. In any case, she goes up the front steps and enters the building. The smell of incense and aged wood hits her nose on cue as she walks down the long corridor, passing by praying sisters and flinching at the sight of a Templar reading in a pew near the far wall. She scowls at them and moves along, glad she didn’t bring her staff today. She comes to a stop in front of the massive golden statue of Andraste. The prophet’s feet are surrounded by melting candles and her face is raised skyward in holy bliss.

Hawke looks up at her, not sure what she’s supposed to be feeling. Enlightened? Awed? Her entire childhood has been made up of avoiding Chantries at all costs. Now that she’s somewhat safe from discovery, she’s free to walk in and out of the place as she pleases, and yet she gets nothing. No epiphany, no ethereal assistance, nothing.

Hawke sighs through her nose with a grimace - it was a long-shot anyway. She leaves the Chantry empty handed, the sunbursts decorating the walls doing nothing to illuminate her clouded thoughts. She doesn’t even see Sebastian, which turns the day into a total loss. She doesn’t walk back the way she came once she exits the building, choosing instead to walk around it, aimlessly meandering in defeat.

She walks to the back of the Chantry and comes across a garden, likely an herbal one. The field is vast, uncharacteristically so for a place of worship, but that’s to be expected. She ambles down the grassy walkway, noting the sisters tending to plants along with the dull, sharp sounds coming from somewhere farther in. She follows it, almost hoping she’ll have to break up a fight or something, if only to distract her. She locates the source of the sound and spots him just as another arrow hits its mark.

Sebastian stands across from her in a separate field, one with less plants and more space for the large target set up at a great distance. He’s out of his armor, only wearing a thin undershirt and trousers. Hawke watches as he draws another arrow from the quiver at his feet, sets it to the bow and shoots with little hesitation. He makes the shot once again, the arrow joining the several others of its kind on the center circle.

She’d thought so before, when he’d fight beside her and the others, but he truly is a master archer. Hawke’s had a few run-ins with archers, ranging from the ones she’d met in Ostagar to the several highwaymen she’s had to mow down, but he stands leagues above them all. He doesn’t notice her watching him, his eyes pointed straight ahead and focused on his target. He looks good. Better than he had when they’d dealt with the Harimanns.

He hits the center again and Hawke claps, drawing his attention. She walks toward him, glancing at the target as she goes.

“You make it look so easy,” she says, coming to a stop near him. “I’ve heard that’s the mark of true skill.”

He lets out a brief laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too kind.”

“Not at all. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” He starts to walk to the target and she follows. “The days have been good to me. And yourself?”

“I’m alright, considering.” She helps him yank the arrows out of the mark. “Hightown is hard to get used to.”

“I can imagine. All of Kirkwall has been a new experience for me.”

“Starkhaven must be wildly different.”

“It is, from what little I can remember of it.” They walk back to his quiver and he faces her fully. “I appreciate your visits, Hawke, but you need not check on me so often. I’m doing fine.”

“I know that,” she says, smiling. “I stopped checking on you ages ago. Now I just come to see you.”

He smiles at the ground bashfully. “You honor me. To think I’m worth a call from the noble house of Amell.”

Hawke scoffs. “Hilarious. it’s not my fault I have to look like this.” She gestures at her mother’s latest selection for her - an Amell crest emblazoned coat and breeches that are ill-suited for battle or anything practical, really. She got to wear her regular boots, thankfully, though they’ve been cleaned well enough to look like they’re not Ferelden.

“I think you look lovely,” he says as he bends to place the arrows back into the quiver. “Like a proper scion of an estate.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He laughs and she only just realizes that he’s given her a compliment. She smiles to herself for a moment, feeling silly. He straightens and she notices the familiar object in his hands. “You’re using your grandfather’s bow?”

“Ah, yes.” He holds it out, turning it in his hands. “Just trying to get used to it.”

“It's so intricate.” She steps closer to get a better look.

“Would you like to hold it?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Hawke shakes her head. “It looks too delicate, I’m afraid I’ll break something.”

Sebastian laughs. “This bow is sturdier than it looks. Here.” He holds it out to her, wiggling it when she hesitates. After another moment’s pause, she carefully wraps a hand around the middle of it, her fingers meeting sleek material. It’s heavier than she expected, though not so much that she can’t lift it out of Sebastian’s hands and bring it to herself for closer inspection. The wood is firm, but polished, and the gleaming white surface is lined with golden accents curving down the length of it.

It doesn’t look nearly as old as it is. Hawke can just barely feel the tiniest hum of something against her fingers as she smooths a hand across the bow. Magic? She can’t be sure, but there’s definitely something special about this weapon. The obvious love and care that it’s been given throughout its long life is proof enough of that.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, watching the bow’s gilding catch the light. “You must be so proud to wield it.”

“I am,” he says fondly, admiring it with wistful eyes. “Though I doubt I’m worthy of it. If I’d only used it sooner--”

He cuts himself off, sighing with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I only just told you I was doing fine. I really am, honestly.”

She gives him a long look and he looks away from her, facing his grandfather’s bow. She holds the only thing he has left of his family in her hands and her heart breaks for him. She can’t imagine what it must be like to lose so much in one instant.

Her stomach twists in shame - she’d been so wrapped up in losing Bethany and Carver that she hasn’t thought to consider how much worse it could’ve been. How close she'd come to being in Sebastian’s shoes.

She shakes the thought away, not willing to consider it. Instead, she takes a step closer to him and moves her head to find his gaze. Once he meets her eye, she smiles.

“You’re making good use of it now,” she says firmly, making sure every word reaches him. “That’s what matters. That’s what makes you worthy of it.”

He holds eye contact for a long moment, looking like he’s considering something. His clouded expression starts to clear with the slightest uptick of his mouth, his gaze moving downwards as his smile grows.

“Thank you, Hawke,” he says softly. She nods and a brief, slightly uncomfortable silence follows.

“How would you use this, anyway?” she asks, moving the bow around in her hands. “I know what it’s supposed to look like, but the process eludes me.”

Sebastian chuckles. “I would start by not holding it upside down.” Hawke rights it, though looking at it now, she’s not sure how he could even tell the difference. He grabs an arrow from the others on the ground and hands it to her. “I trust you know which way to point the arrow?”

“I’ll manage.” She holds the bow the way she _thinks_ is right and loads the arrow, making it rattle and shake as she struggles to line it up. Once she does, it moves and she has to start over. Sebastian watches her, looking like he’s fighting not to laugh at her efforts.

“Okay,” she huffs out when she’s finally got it right. “Ready.”

“Not quite.” He moves to stand next to her. “Your stance is all wrong. Move your feet closer.” She shuffles into place.

“Hmm, still not right." His hand hovers over her hip. "May I?" When she nods, he guides her into a better position, his warm palm going to her back to straighten it. Her breath picks up at his touch, not quite inaudibly, and she prays he didn’t hear it. He seems to not have, his hand going to her shoulder now.

Oh, no. Not him, not the _Chantry brother_.

“When preparing to shoot an arrow, you must stay relaxed,” he says, lowering her elbow a little more. He keeps his hand there while the other one moves to hers gripping the bow, his warm fingers closing over her own. “Loosen your grip a little. There, that’s good.”

This is bad. This is very, very bad. Her mouth has gotten dry and she can hear her heart hammering in her ears. It doesn’t look like Sebastian notices as he continues to touch her in the most innocent but confounding ways and explain the proper archery stance. She glances at him and he’s so _close_. She’s hardly an inch taller than him and his face is just about lined up with hers. Her eyes are drawn to his lips, noting their softness and how they move around his words. She’d never noticed how much she likes the way he talks until now. She always has, just not so much in this context. _Never_ in this context, but now she’s just staring at his ridiculous--

“Touch your mouth.”

“What?” Hawke starts, her eyes widening.

He meets her gaze. “Touch the end of the arrow to your mouth. Use it as an anchor.”

“Ah, right.” She gives a short, breathy laugh and does as she’s told. She freezes when she feels his hand on her chin, lifting her face up.

“Don’t tilt your head to meet the arrow. It’ll throw you off.” He puts her in the right position and pulls back, but Hawke can still feel the ghost of his fingers against her jaw. She keeps her eyes pointing forward now, unable to do anything but stand too tense and too aware of him.

“Fix your eyes on the target,” he says, one hand on her shoulder and the other wrapped loosely around hers on the bow. She’s trying to zero in on her mark’s heavy cotton surface and the center, but she still feels stiff. Every part of her is tuned to the points of contact on her shoulder and hand, not registering anything else, much less a target. She resigns herself to missing it horribly until he speaks again, his voice just over a murmur.

“Breathe in, now. Center yourself.” She sucks in a deep breath through her nose and holds it, finding her focus. “And...release.”

She lets go and the arrow launches at the target, hitting it just shy of the center. Hawke exhales, feeling the air rush out of her dizzyingly as she stares at her arrow still shaking where it landed, closer to the center than she would’ve ever expected.

“There,” Sebastian breathes. “See? Nothing’s broken.” Hawke turns to him, already smiling and about to thank him until she realizes just how close he still is. Their eyes meet and her words die in her mouth. He looks right back at her in that wondering way he does, and time seems to stop completely.

He takes his own deep breath and steps away, his hands leaving her. “Well, ah--that was good.” He clears his throat. “You did well for your first time, you--it was good.”

Hawke blinks. “Oh, yeah, er, thank you. You taught me well and it, um…” She fumbles with the bow for a moment before holding it out for him. “Here.” He takes it back and holds it close, shuffling his feet.

“So, I’ll just go,” she says, already backing up towards the exit. “See you later?” He only nods and loads his bow, loosing an arrow without pausing. Hawke leaves, pretending not to notice how badly he’d missed.

She quickly makes her way back to the front of the Chantry, fanning her flushed face with her hand. At the very least, now she knows it isn’t only her female friends. She curses under her breath at the inconvenience her own body is causing her as she passes the Chantry’s many statues of Andraste, two especially large ones framing the entry staircase.

Hawke looks up at them warily as she walks by. She thinks they’re peering back down at her in accusation.

She wilts at their stare and whispers, “ _I am so sorry._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a mess. but worry not she'll get some help soon. thanks so much for reading! please be sure to comment and tell me what you think! see you soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN TWO MONTHS!! I'M SORRY!!! here's a somewhat long update with a lil bit of plot wow amazing

 

It was supposed to be safe.

She was supposed to go into the Hanged Man, have a quick drink with Varric, and then leave with no trouble. He'd been obsessively searching for his brother and she hadn't seen much of him, so she'd been glad to get the invitation, knowing he was finally listening to her and taking a break. It was supposed to be _easy_. But then, nothing in Hawke’s life is easy. By now, she really should’ve come to expect these things.

She barely gets a sip of her drink when Isabela comes strolling in, already wearing a sharp smirk and pointing it directly at Hawke, who is trying very hard not to look like she’s about to pass out. To her credit, she does stay calm for a good long while, even when Isabela plops down on the seat next to her, her thigh right up against Hawke’s. She’s fine, she’s confident that she can be stable through this. At least, until Aveline shows up, having been invited by Varric in what probably isn’t but really _feels_ like an attempt on Hawke’s life. Especially with Aveline wearing that damn sleeveless top, that _abomination_ that’s making it harder and harder for Hawke to remain functioning and bring her drink to her mouth like a regular human person rather than spill it on her shirt because she got distracted by the sight of those arms. Again.

She manages it, but it requires more effort than she’s capable of putting in while she’s slowly getting more and more tipsy. While the alcohol is, admittedly, softening her nerves, she doesn’t trust that she won’t start declaring loudly and in intimate detail exactly what she wants Aveline or Isabela (or both) to do to her on the table right this very moment.

She needs to stop drinking. She needs to leave and get home and try to work off these feelings with some intensive exercise. A few hundred push-ups ought to do it. But not yet, wait a little longer and then go on your way, very casual and normal, easy.

But, again, nothing is ever easy.

“You’re getting so shaggy,” Isabela says, reaching out to brush a chunk of Hawke’s hair back where it hangs just above her shoulders. “I like it. Makes you look a little wild.”

Hawke drinks out of her tankard and hums out a vague reply, her quiet panic thankfully somewhat dulled by what she’s already drunk. Isabela’s fingers graze her skin as she plays with her hair some more and while Hawke would really benefit from her stopping, it just feels so nice, she can’t bring herself to ask. Plus, she can’t be trusted to string a sentence together, so she’d best just keep her drink near her mouth for safety. It’s a good plan, and it’s working flawlessly, up until Isabela’s hand goes to her bangs and pushes them off her face, making her turn to Isabela out of reflex, something she’d been desperately avoiding. Their eyes meet and Isabela smiles.

“On second thought, maybe you could use a trim,” Isabela says, continuing to smooth Hawke’s hair back. “I could stand to see that face more often. That’s _definitely_ a Ferelden jaw. Strong and sturdy. All the qualities I look for in a good seat.”

“Oh, for--” Aveline snaps while Varric bursts into laughter. “Really? Does your depravity know no bounds? And get your hands off of her already.”

“Relax, I’m not hurting her.” Isabela pets her some more while Hawke sits stock-still, mesmerized and just a little bit dizzy. “Such pretty hair. Now I don’t want you to cut it.”

“Careful, Rivaini, you’re gonna make her head explode,” Varric says, still snickering. Hawke’s face _has_ been getting warmer with every second Isabela remains touching her, but if it’s actually become visible, then she has a problem. Well, _another_ one. The first problem, the one she can’t seem to find a solution to, is the fact that her brain has apparently lost all connection to the rest of her body and she can’t move. She’s frozen in Isabela’s hands as she strokes her hair and face.

“That’s enough,” Aveline barks. “Look, you’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Am I?” Isabela takes Hawke’s face in her hands now. “Are you uncomfortable, Hawke?”

Hawke lets out a weak, barely-there reply that has Varric cackling into his drink. Isabela smiles again and leans in just a little, just enough to bring a sound of protest out of Aveline and make Hawke’s fingers burn.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asks, voice low and eyes hypnotic. Hawke feels her breath on her face and her gaze snaps down to her mouth. Her brain very nearly shuts down - she still has just enough awareness to vaguely recognize the smell of burning wood.

“Uh, Hawke?” Varric pipes up. She turns to see smoke starting to trail out of her hand where it lays on the wooden table in front of them, blackened patches growing under her faintly glowing fingers.

She wrenches her hands away, raising them up and far from anyone else and nearly dropping her tankard before she scrambles to catch it and slams it onto the table, spilling what’s left of her drink in the process. She gets out a quick, mumbled apology as she stands and leaves the room, shaking her hands out and holding her breath. She wants to get out of the bar, but she can’t yet, not with her magic still running loose. No, she needs to get a lid on this before she can go, that’s the safest option. She goes down the hall, away from other people, and paces back and forth, steadying her breathing before holding it again, repeating her usual process over and over until the burning in her hands fades away. She finally exhales, feeling off-balance, and presses a hand against a wall until her head steadies enough for her to leave.

Damn it. That was a disaster. She’d thought she’d been hiding it all well enough, but now she’s blushing so hard not even her skin tone can save her. Also, she nearly set a table on fire, which is to be expected, seeing as she’s an enormous idiot who suddenly can’t keep herself together around her own friends.

Berating herself won’t help. She needs to stay calm or else the magic will come back up. Deep breaths, steady heartbeat.

“There you are.” She tenses at the voice. “We thought you’d taken off.”

“Here I am,” she says quickly, stepping away from the wall and just barely glancing at Isabela to smile and nod. “And I’m just about to leave, actually, so--”

“Hang on a second.” Hawke keeps her gaze lowered as Isabela thumps over to her, her boots coming into view. “Aveline will want to check on you, too. You should pop back in there before you go.”

Hawke nods and tries to move past her without touching her, a difficult feat in such a narrow corridor, but Isabela makes it impossible by stepping in her way.

“Look, Hawke,” she says, hands on her hips. “I didn’t mean anything by all that. If it bothers you, I can stop.”

“It’s alright,” Hawke manages to get out, looking to the side. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“Really.” Isabela’s tone is dry as she moves to catch Hawke’s eye. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Uh...”

“Oh, Hawke.” She laughs. “I get it. Honestly, I do. And if you ever want to...explore what you’re feeling. I’m willing to help.”

That grabs Hawke’s attention and she looks at Isabela, her eyes questioning. Isabela smirks and takes a careful step closer, not touching her, but Hawke can feel her warmth in the scant space between them.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Isabela whispers, her head tilted up to face her completely. “You know where I’ll be.”

And with that, she goes, steps unhurried and hips swaying as she, once again, leaves Hawke stupefied. It takes Hawke an embarrassingly long time to get her bearings again and actually get her head around what just happened.

Oh, Maker. Hawke is _not_ prepared for this, not in the slightest. And yet, she _wants_.

Don’t think about it now. Focus on damage control. She takes another deep breath and releases it before walking back to Varric’s suite.

“Hawke,” Aveline calls as soon as she steps through the door. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She winces at the scorch marks still staining the table top. The ale has been cleaned up, but there’s no way to wipe those away. “I can pay for that, Varric.”

He waves a dismissive hand at her. “Don’t bother. It’s not like this thing was new. Besides, I think you might’ve actually improved it a little. It has a sort of dangerous charm now. Really brings the room together.”

“It _does_ have more personality,” Isabela says, patting it. “We should’ve had Hawke burn this thing ages ago.”

Aveline rolls her eyes and Hawke laughs sheepishly. “Glad to help. I’m gonna head out now, I’ll see you all later.”

“Already?” Aveline asks, concerned. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay, just tired.”

“At least stay for one more round,” Varric says, beckoning her further into the room.

“It’s on its way right now,” Isabela adds. “Imagine how sad it’d be, just sitting there, completely full, with no one to drink out of it.”

“C’mon, Hawke, think of the beer.”

Despite herself, Hawke grins and walks over. “Oh, fine. Just one more.” Isabela and Varric cheer and Hawke sits on a different side of the table this time, across from Varric and away from any point of contact from either of her female friends. No one makes a note of it and the drinks come soon after. Hawke takes a swig and her eye is drawn to an extra tankard on the table.

“Expecting someone else?” she asks Varric, nodding at it.

“Yeah, maybe. She said she’d come by at around this time and--” His face brightens as he glances at the door. “Daisy! You made it!”

Hawke almost chokes on her drink. She’s coughing, eyes watering as Aveline leans over and thumps her on the back. Isabela’s laughing and Varric’s still talking to the new arrival over her head and Hawke needs to get out of here _now_. She stands and babbles some half-thought excuse that involves both her dog and her stove being left on in her haste and leaves the room, looking straight ahead and narrowly avoiding brushing Merrill’s shoulder on the way out.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. That was too obvious. Now Aveline _must_ know there’s something going on and if she knows, she’s going to ask, and if she asks, there’s little to no chance Hawke will be able to lie to her. It’ll be embarrassing and awful and she might die from the experience. Though, honestly, she’s not sure she’d be opposed to that at this point.

“Hawke! Wait!” Hawke keeps herself from looking back or acknowledging it, though her heart sinks at the sound. It’s Merrill, her voice just audible over the noise of the rowdy pub. Hawke barrells on, pretending to not have heard and marching out the door into the dim evening to make her way back to Hightown. Merrill calls out for her again, but she still doesn’t turn, doesn’t stop. The plan is working perfectly up until two little hands grab hold of her arm and stop her, shocking her into turning.

Merrill is doubled over, winded from what must’ve been a burst of speed that helped her catch up to Hawke’s long strides. Her hands are clasping Hawke’s as she pants and Hawke winces, feeling awful for making her chase after her. She’s about to apologize when Merrill straightens up, forcing Hawke to look away.

“Got you,” she says, voice still a little breathy.

“Hi, Merrill,” Hawke says cheerfully, even as she looks to the side. “Sorry, were you calling me? I didn’t hear.”

“Why did you leave just now?” Merrill asks, going right for the jugular. Hawke gulps and looks all around, pulling her hand out of Merrill’s grip just a little.

“Just wanted to get home. I’m feeling really tired. So, if you could just--”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Merrill holds fast and takes a step closer, boring into her with her eyes from what Hawke can see in her periphery. “Ever since you got back from the Deep Roads, I’ve hardly seen you, and you’re always running off.”

“That’s--Merrill, no, I’ve just been busy.”

“Then why did you leave when I came to the pub?”

Hawke makes a hedging noise, but doesn’t offer much else. Merrill’s hands squeeze hers and her voice is quiet when she speaks next.

“It’s because of Bethany, isn’t it?” Hawke whips her head towards her to find her looking down at Hawke’s hand. “I know you said it wasn’t my fault, but...I don’t understand a lot about how humans work, but I know when I’m being avoided. And I can’t think of anything else I’ve done to let you down besides that.”

She raises her head, her eyes shining with tears. “I’m so sorry, Hawke. I know I should’ve done better and if I’d just come sooner, Bethany would still be home. I know it’s selfish, but please don’t hate me, I just don’t think I can--”

“ _Hate_ you?” Hawke says, shaking her head, astonished. “Oh, Merrill, no, _no_ , I don’t hate you, I could never.”

“But, Bethany--”

“ _Wasn’t_ _your fault_.” Hawke takes her by the shoulders and speaks firmly. “Merrill, I swear, I am _not_ angry with you. Not about Bethany or anything. You did your best and I’m only thankful that you tried to protect her when I wasn’t there to.”

Merrill looks up at her with watery eyes, confused. Hawke smiles at her and gently rubs her shoulders. “You’ve never let me down. Not once. You’re amazing and I’m happy to call you my friend. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Merrill’s eyes soften and her mouth spreads in a smile as she whispers, “Thank the Creators.” Hawke grins back at her and only just realizes what’s happening. Or, better yet, what’s _not_ happening.

She’s looking directly at Merrill. She’s in physical contact. And she feels nothing, nothing except the usual brand of affection she reserves for Merrill, that familiar big sister love she’s always had. She steps back just a little and looks her friend up and down, from the top of her dark hair to her light boots. Nothing.

“Hawke?” She looks at Merrill’s face again and she’s looking at her warily, her head tilted adorably. Hawke beams at her, and it only makes her look more worried.

“It’s okay!” Hawke cries, grasping Merrill’s shoulders. “I’m okay!” She laughs and pulls Merrill into a hug, lifting her up and spinning in a circle. Merrill gasps and swings her legs as Hawke twirls around and around, ecstatic in her discovery. She’d been glad to not have distracting thoughts around Varric or Anders, but she’s been so worried about how she’d behave around Merrill. Knowing now that her _condition_ hasn’t ruined this relationship makes her want to weep in relief, a sizable chunk of this burden finally off her shoulders.

“What’s going on with you?” Merrill asks when Hawke releases her, looking up at her in bewilderment.

Hawke lets out a long breath. “How long do you have?”

 

* * *

 

“...Well.”

“Yeah.”

“And this has been going on for…?”

“A month, now.”

“Oh.” Merrill nods, her mouth twitching. “Interesting.”

They’re in Merrill’s home, the two of them having taken the short walk here after Hawke had decided that discussing her woes out in public where anyone can hear is probably a bad idea. Hawke slouches in her seat and gives Merrill a pleading look from across the little table.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asks, glad to be able to talk about it now, but desperate for an answer all the same. “Am I sick? Am I dying? Did someone hit me with some kind of curse?”

Merrill seems to struggle with something from the way her face pinches and her lips press together. Hawke blinks at her, her mouth opening to ask before Merrill busts out into high, loud laughter that bounces around in the mostly empty home and makes Hawke jump. She goes on for a while, an arm wrapped around her middle as she laughs and laughs with a hand pressed against her mouth.

“No, no, it isn’t funny, I’m sorry,” she finally says, even if she’s _still_ laughing. “I’m sorry just--one second, please.”

Hawke waits and, though she hadn’t thought it was possible before this moment, feels like even more of an idiot than she had before she said anything. Why _did_ she say anything? She should’ve just suffered in silence like she’s used to, it’s always worked for her.

Soon enough, Merrill reigns herself in, smiling as she says, “No, you’re not sick. And you’re not dying.”

“Great. So, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know what humans call it, but in the Dalish, it’s _la’apem soh_.”

Hawke nods. “Right….what does that mean?”

“It’s something like…an awakening of the senses. Something that happens when an elf is past the days of early youth and on the path to adulthood,” she explains. “It comes with certain physical changes as well as emotional. It doesn’t happen to everyone, of course, but when it does, it can be distracting. It can also make it hard for the young ones to concentrate on their chores.” She lets out a little embarrassed laugh. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Hawke stares at her, letting her words sink in. Once she makes the obvious connection, she bolts up in her seat as she blurts, “Not that! No, that’s happened already!”

“It did?”

“Yes! Ages ago, when I was thirteen or something.”

Merrill brow furrows in confusion. “So, you’ve had the feelings before?”

“No, no, I mean the _physical_ changes have all happened already. I’m _well_ past all that.”

“But the thoughts? Did they happen?”

Hawke bites her lip, thinking. “I think so? Maybe? I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve always been so busy.” Hawke shrugs. “I had to take care of the twins and then I had to take care of the whole family. Then the Blight came and we ended up here.”

“Where you got even busier.”

“Exactly. That first year was a nightmare.” Working with Athenril wasn’t difficult, but the rest of the smugglers were much less bearable. It’d felt like Hawke had to prove her worth every day, that she had to work herself ragged to get any of their respect. Not that she ever got it. She hadn’t planned on hurting anyone, but there’s only so much a person can take until they ask their little brother to teach them the most efficient way to break a man’s finger.

“You’re not busy anymore, then?” Merrill asks.

“Not really. I’ve got the estate back and Bethany’s alright. Carver’s off killing darkspawn, so, he must be happy. Even my mother is in better spirits.” And Hawke’s glad for it. She’d rather have her mother forcing her into uncomfortable finery and tutting over her hair than the stone-cold silence. Yes, this is much better.

Merrill claps. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“You’re feeling all this because you have no reason not to anymore.” She leans forward, gesturing as she explains. “You must have so much of it backed up inside of you, and now that you have time, it’s all coming out at once!”

Hawke goes limp, her head landing on the table with a groan. It sounds ridiculous, but she can’t think of anything better. She’s been focusing so much on her family, she’s had no time to herself. And now she’s paying for it, because _that’s_ fair.

“Oh, Maker,” she says weakly, her voice muffled in the wood. “How do I make it stop?”

After a long pause, Merrill says, “These feelings come randomly, right?”

“Yes.”

“For anyone?”

“Mostly.”

“But not me?”

“ _No_ , thank the Maker,” Hawke says before she can stop herself. She sits up quickly and hastily adds, “Not that I think you’re ugly or anything! You’re adorable, but I’ve always seen you as a little sister. I’d feel terrible if I had those feelings for you, knowing that.”

Merrill beams. “That’s so sweet! I feel the same way. Right, so you can’t be around Isabela, Aveline, or Sebastian.”

“Yes. Especially Isabela. She’s too powerful.”

“She _is_ very pretty.”

“Understatement. I think she might’ve...propositioned me earlier.”

“Doesn’t she always do that?”

“Well, yeah, but this time I might actually…” Hawke’s face burns at the thought. “No, no, can’t think about that now. Quick, Merrill, say something else.”

“Oh, okay. What about Anders or Varric? Do you feel anything towards them?” Hawke shakes her head. “What about Fenris?”

“Ugh.” Hawke pulls a grimace. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him, but I doubt there’s anything.”

“Oh?”

“I’d rather not get all flustered around _him_. My pride wouldn’t recover.”

“Is there something you don’t like about Fenris?”

“I’m surprised you even have to ask! He’s always been so awful to you, especially.”

“I assumed that was just the way he is.”

“Not an excuse. He hates mages.”

“He seems to like Bethany just fine.” Hawke scoffs. “No, really! He was with her that day.”

“Which day?”

“The day before she was taken away.” Merrill looks to the right, remembering. “He was with her up until I showed up and he just left.”

Hawke sucks in a sharp breath. “He was _there_? Why? Why was he there, what he did want with her?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it was anything bad!” Merrill raises her hands to pacify her. “He was just with her.”

“What do you remember _exactly?_ ” Hawke asks slowly, her voice going hard.

Merrill looks away again, squirming in her chair. “Er...I’d gotten lost on the way to meet with Bethany so we could take a walk around Hightown. Bethany wasn’t where she was supposed to be, so I looked around. That’s when I saw all the ice and broken stalls and people panicking about a mage. When I found her, she was sitting in an alley with him.”

Hawke’s hands ball into fists under the table. “Go on.”

“I could feel the magic coming off of her,” Merrill says, twisting a lock of her hair nervously, “so, I knew something was wrong. But before I could ask, Fenris left. I tried to get Bethany to tell me, but she was so upset. When she finally calmed down enough to talk, she told me not to worry. Then I took her home. The next day, you came back, and she was gone. That’s it.”

Hawke sits, mouth agape. “Bethany told me he had nothing to do with her getting taken,” she says lowly. “Why would she lie to me?”

Merrill shakes her head. “I’m sure it wasn’t a lie.”

“She chose to not tell me he was there. She could have, but she didn’t.” Hawke’s hands ball into fists under the table. “And I can’t even go ask her since the bloody Circle won’t let me back in for who knows how long, _damn it_.”

“Hawke--”

“He must’ve had something to do with it. Bethany hasn’t had a problem with control in years, it can’t be a coincidence that he was there the day she does. He did something.”

Merrill leans over in her seat. “Hawke, this isn’t helping. We should be focusing on your problem.”

“That’s alright. I think it’s all cleared up.”

“It is?”

“No, but it’s been put in the back of my mind.” She leans back on her seat, crossing her legs tightly. “I’m angry now.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. And since I can’t get to Bethany, I’ll just have to get Fenris to explain.”

“Oh, Hawke, please don’t.” Merrill shakes her head hard enough to make her hair whip around. “You know how he is! He won’t give you anything, at least not without a fight.”

“Well.” Hawke flexes her hands, watching the sparks pop out of her fingers. “Then I suppose there’ll be a fight.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> la'apem soh means nothing, i made it up for this fic lmao. or maybe it does mean something somewhere?? i doubt it. 
> 
> drama!! conflict!!! there's gonna be a fight y'all!!!! stay tuned to this fic that i couldn't leave as a silly nonsense story sigh. thanks for reading! leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! finally we're at the fenris chapter! let me tell u this was Hell to write, i haven't written this dood in so long it was almost impossible to get his voice right. i still don't think i really succeeded but i did the best i could! im happy with what i ended up with and that's all i can ask for really ahahaha when is death coming
> 
> hope u like it!

Merrill convinces Hawke to put off going over to Fenris’s place looking for a fight. That’s not really what Hawke was aiming to do, but fine. She gives in to Merrill’s pleading and goes home. It’s for the best anyway - she should think of a plan of action before approaching him.

When she wakes up the next morning, she has no plan, but she’s still angry, so she decides to play it by ear.

She throws on some light armor and grabs her staff before stepping out of the house to greet the early morning sun, along with two familiar faces.

Aveline and Merrill stand in front of the statue in the middle of the square, waiting for her. Aveline is in her guard armor, all gleaming and strong, and it tugs at Hawke just a little bit, but she’s too confused to really make note of it. Merrill is standing next to her, waving meekly at Hawke as she goes over to them, a question on her face.

Aveline answers with her own question, “What’s this I’m hearing about you picking a fight with Fenris?”

Hawke immediately turns to Merrill, who flinches. “I’m sorry, Hawke, but I was worried! I had to tell someone!”

Hawke frowns and turns to Aveline. “I’m _not_ picking a fight. I’m just gonna talk to him.”

Aveline crosses her arms. “About Bethany.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not convinced there won’t be a fight.”

“Maker’s breath, Aveline, have you ever known me to be violent?”

“No, but I know you’re still upset about Bethany and I’ve seen the way you look whenever anyone so much as mentions Fenris’ name.” Her gaze softens just a little. “A part of you still blames him for what happened. And now you’ve decided that him just _being there_ when Bethany was discovered is proof enough of his guilt.”

Hawke throws her hands up. “Isn’t it? How could he have just _happened_ to be with her when she was found out?”

“Coincidence.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You _refuse_ to, because you’re angry with him.”

“I have every reason to be angry. He was the one person who wouldn’t shut up about the Circle around her. And he’s _never_ liked me, you know that.” Hawke is starting to sound just a _little_ like a child, but she can’t really bring herself to care. It’s fair to say that she’s not overly fond of him, either. His obvious hatred for mages is something she could easily ignore, as she’s seen it about a million times in her life as a secret apostate, but when he uses that kind of talk on her sister, that’s when he’s crossed the line. She’s asked him multiple times to direct that contempt, if he _must_ have it, to her alone, but he’s never once obliged.

Suffice it to say, they’ve never gotten on.

Aveline sighs. “This is exactly why you can’t go. It could get physical and I can’t let that happen.”

Hawke shrugs. “Then I promise I won’t hurt him. You know I wouldn’t anyway.”

“I’m not worried about _him_ , Hawke. If you so much as raised your staff, he’d slice your head off.” She grimaces. “That is, if he doesn’t tear your heart out.”

Hawke groans. “ _Fine_ , then come with me. That way you can keep it from going too far.”

Aveline rolls her eyes. “Right. Because it’s not like I have a job or anything.”

“So, you’re coming?”

“Obviously. Merrill?”

Merrill backs away from them. “Oh, no, I’d rather not. You can come by later if you want to talk about it! Good luck!” She hurries off and Aveline and Hawke head out to Fenris’ repurposed mansion.

Hawke knocks on the door and gets no answer. She tries again and again and still there’s nothing. Part of her wants to just destroy the door and force herself inside, but she was raised better than that.

So, they wait. Aveline stands near the shrubbery while Hawke positions herself against a pillar, tapping her foot. They stand there for a while, waiting for him to show up without really knowing if he’s going to come back or if he’s even out. He could just be sitting around in this dim mansion, ignoring their knocking and drinking the day away. If that’s the case, maybe she _will_ kick the door in.

“What do you expect to gain from this?” Aveline asks, breaking the long silence.

Hawke glances at her. “What do you mean?”

“Even if he had something to do with it. If he tells you he reported to the Templars himself and made sure Bethany was taken away, what would that do?” Aveline turns to her, searching her face like she can find answers there. “It wouldn’t take her out of the Circle. Wouldn’t make you feel better.”

Hawke’s foot stills and her shoulders go slack as she breathes out, “I just want to know.”

Aveline hums. “I suppose I do, too.”

Another several moments go by until he finally appears, rounding the corner and walking towards them. His armor is bloodied and there’s the smallest limp in his step. His face is a picture of exhaustion, and Hawke’s hackles lower just a little at the sight of him. He finally notices their presence when he’s halfway to the door, but if he’s surprised by their impromptu visit, he doesn’t show it.

He stops a good distance away and glances at them both in turn before gruffly saying, “Can I help you?”

Hawke steps forward. “I want to have a word with you. About Bethany.” His eyebrows rise slightly, but he has no other reaction.

“We’re just here to talk, Fenris,” Aveline says, ever the mediator. “We’d really appreciate it if you’d spare us the time.”

Fenris faces Hawke, meeting her gaze directly for a long moment. He sighs and goes to the door, pushing it open and going inside wordlessly. The door stands ajar and Hawke takes that as good enough an invitation.

The mansion is still rather ramshackle when they walk in, cobwebs and dust littering every corner. Back when she’d first met Fenris, Hawke had been insistent upon making sure the dead bodies they left behind in their search for Danarius would be carted away so they don’t stink up the place or invite maggots. She didn’t go as far as to actually clean the house, assuming Fenris would take on the challenge himself at some point. She’d been very, very wrong. If she’d known he was perfectly comfortable living in a house of filth, she’d have made sure to do something about it - no one should live like this.

Then again, that was back when she’d sort of liked him. A little. He was still distant and made his distrust for her magic clear, but she’d given him the benefit of the doubt. She’d expected to become friends with him at some point, figuring it’d happen eventually, like it always does with her. No such luck. Part of her thinks she was lucky to have missed the chance, if it meant staying away from this giant mess of a house.

They follow him to the drawing room and Hawke can barely see for the dust and dim light coming from the dingy windows. He puts his sword down and leans it against the wall with a soft _thump_. He turns to them now, standing with his arms loose at his sides.

He looks at Hawke, face impassive. “Well?”

“Aren’t you going to…?” She gestures at the blood and grime on his armor and skin.

“Not necessary.”

“You’re hurt.”

“And you’re stalling. Say what you’ve come to say.”

Hawke scowls and crosses her arms, shoving down her temper and choosing her words carefully.

“You were with Bethany the day before she was taken to the Circle,” she begins. He only looks at her, waiting. “Something happened that made her lose control. Something or some _one_ upset her enough to use magic.”

“And you believe that someone was me,” he says blankly.

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I can’t say that I do.” He goes to sit down on one of the seedy armchairs. She sees him barely hide a wince and feels the smallest stab of concern, which irritates her more, frankly.

“You are right. I was with her when it happened,” he says. “She lost her grip and caused enough damage to destroy two carts. That much is true.

“But I did _not_ cause it.” He levels her with a hard look. “I had nothing to do with her being in the Circle.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Hawke scoffs. “That you being there when Bethany was discovered was just a fluke?”

“Believe what you wish. It makes little difference.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means that you’ll have to find another person in which to place your blame. Hopefully they will be more cooperative.” He doesn’t move even as Hawke makes a half-step towards him, hands balled into fists. Aveline steps in quickly, a hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“Fenris, please,” she says while Hawke glares daggers at his almost bored expression. “If you understand why Hawke is so quick to accuse you, then could you tell us what happened that day?”

“To what end?” he asks, shaking his head. “I don’t see how an explanation would change anything.”

“It would clear things up. Bethany would have never just randomly slip up like that.”

“I am well aware of that,” he says, momentarily surprising Hawke out of her anger. “She is a mage of rare discipline. She’s proven her restraint many times over, one that is greater than even yours.” He glances at Hawke, who only blinks back at him. “For someone like her to lose control...it had to have been something very distressing, wouldn’t you think?”

He gives Hawke a pointed look, maintaining eye-contact. She only stares, feeling like he’s telling her something, but having no clue what it is. After a moment, he looks away.

“If that’s all you wish from me, then I will retire for the day. You can see yourselves out.” He stands in one fluid movement and leaves, no longer limping and leaving Aveline and Hawke in the dark - Hawke in more ways than one.

 

* * *

 

Hawke sits on the floor of her bedroom, the latest resting spot after another few hours of aimless pacing. Kiki bounds over to her and presents her with the ball they’d been playing with in her mouth. Hawke catches it as she lets it go and tosses it across the room again, sending the dog after it the same way she’s probably done about a hundred times just in the past few minutes. An hour? She can’t be sure when it started, she hasn’t been paying much attention.

What did Fenris mean? What could’ve upset Bethany so much if it wasn’t him? Does she even believe it wasn’t him?

After some thought, she’s ready to admit that she does. He has no reason to lie, and she has to accept that she was wrong.

But, still, what was he getting at? What was he telling her, or rather, _not_ telling her? She’s so deep in thought, she hardly notices Kiki’s return until the dog climbs over her legs and lands her heavy paws on her chest, knocking some of the breath out of her.

She rubs Kiki’s head and says, “Sorry, sorry. You wanna keep playing? Where’s the ball?”

Kiki tilts her head at her, big brown eyes staring into her own.

“I’m fine. Really, I’m okay.” Kiki sniffs, unconvinced. Hawke laughs again, embarrassed to have been caught by her pet. “Oh, you’re a smart puppy, aren’t you? Too smart, I reckon.” Kiki only looks at her and waits.

Hawke sighs. “I don’t get it, Kiki. What was Fenris getting at? I’ve never been any good at reading between the lines. Maybe there wasn’t even enough information for me to try. Or am I just daft? What do you think?”

Kiki sniffs again.

“Well, that’s discouraging.” Hawke presses her lips together. “Maybe I should go back and ask. Do you think that would work? No, probably not. He might not even be there.”

Kiki barks and hops away from her and then back, bouncing on her paws and panting.

Hawke grins. “You wanna go out?” Kiki barks again with another jump and nudges at her with her big, leathery head, almost knocking her over.

Hawke giggles and pushes her off. “Okay, okay! Let’s go for a walk, then. Maybe some air will clear my head.”

She shoves her boots on and fastens on her coat and staff before leaving the room, letting Kiki lead the way out and down the stairs. Sandal spots Kiki and says hello, petting the dog when she races to him eagerly. Hawke doesn’t have the heart to separate them and talks to Bodahn while she waits for Kiki to remember why they’ve come downstairs.

“Is my mother out?” she asks, not seeing her anywhere.

“No, Messere, she’s in her room,” Bodahn says, glancing in the direction of the stairs, his face sympathetic. “She’s having a rather trying day, I’m afraid.” Hawke looks at the top of the stairs and worries - maybe getting the estate back wasn’t enough to soothe all of her mother’s grief.

“I’ll see if I can pick up some flowers for her while I’m out.”

“A lovely idea, Messere. Better hurry, the stalls will close soon. And it looks like our furry friend is raring to go.” Hawke looks down just as Kiki rushes over, barking and shaking her tail excitedly. Hawke says her goodbyes to everyone and heads out with her impatient mabari in tow, laughing as the dog pushes against her back to make her move faster.

Hawke opens the door to see Hightown at dusk, as well as someone else standing by the statue across from her house.

Well. She was right about him not being home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry about giving u another cliff-hanger i promise i know what im doing lmaooo also i love writing dogs, i should rly do it more often. the final chapter is outlined and in the process of being written so expect it very soon! leave a comment if you liked this one! thanks!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the end! rly sorry it took so long. i had a lot of fun tho and im glad y'all enjoyed it too! hope you like it!
> 
>   
> [(art by me)](http://itsnobbie.tumblr.com/)

Fenris stops his pacing as soon as he notices her stare. He’s got his huge sword, because of course he does, and he’s in full armor, but it’s clean. Did he take care of his wounds? Hawke can’t tell from where she’s standing, holding the door half-open while he looks back at her impassively.

“Fenris,” she says.

“Hawke,” he replies. Their banter pauses briefly while he seems to search for words. “I wanted to--do you have a moment?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” She opens the door a little more widely. “Why don’t you come in and--” She cuts herself off with a gasp when Kiki runs past her legs, nearly knocking her over the threshold as the dog races out the door, barking and jumping about.

“Oh, right.” Hawke straightens up and shuts the door behind her. “On second thought, let’s walk.”

Hightown is mostly empty now, with the odd guard here and there. A few of them nod or wave to Hawke as she walks by and she smiles at them easily enough, even if her mind is racing. Fenris is quiet, keeping his usual distance, and she doesn’t have anything to say either. She forces herself not to look at him or break the uncomfortable silence. He’s obviously come to her for a reason, and, as curious as she is, she can restrain herself. They stop for a moment while Kiki sniffs at a patch of grass. The market square is empty and still, save for the few merchants packing up their stalls.

Hawke watches her dog paw at a passing butterfly and barely keeps herself from jumping when Fenris finally speaks.

“I realize I wasn’t very...helpful earlier,” he says lowly. “I have no excuse. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how to answer your questions, nor would any answers I might have had satisfy you.”

Hawke gives him a sidelong glance, but he’s looking away from her, his body slouched and turned towards the far wall.

“I presumed that nothing I would have said would change anything,” he continues. “I thought it pointless and that perhaps you could figure it out on your own. That was wrong of me.”

Hawke stares at the back of his head until the familiar sound of scampering paws turns her attention back to Kiki as she pads away. Hawke follows with Fenris not far behind. She lets his words float around in her head until Kiki stops to investigate another mound of dirt.

Is he...apologizing? Oh, that’s not normal. That’s very alarming. It’s appreciated, of course, but she’s not sure how she can go about letting him know that.

“I’m afraid I’m not nearly as astute as you might think,” she says. “I never figured it out.”

“Ah.”

She turns to him. “I’d feel better if you’d just tell me. I won’t blame you, I promise.”

He looks at the ground. “I know you won’t. That is why I’m hesitant.”

She stops walking. He stops as well, and Kiki goes bounding away. Hawke considers following for a moment, but she’ll be fine. The dog’s been out by herself before and it’s not as if it’s hard to find a two-hundred-pound war hound.

“Fenris, I’m going to need you to speak plainly,” Hawke says. He sighs through his nose and still refuses to look at her when he answers.

“Bethany was in the marketplace when I saw her the other day,” he says. “I was only there for a moment, but she spotted me. She insisted upon talking to me, Maker knows why.”

Hawke smiles. “Sounds like Bethany. Hope you weren’t too put out.”

He shakes his head and goes on, “She’d been looking forward to meeting with Merrill and was chattering at me before she saw someone she knew. When I looked over, it was a dwarf, one I didn’t recognize. She said that he was one the one who went with you on the expedition. Varric’s brother, if I remember right.”

Hawke jolts. “ _Bartrand?_   You saw Bartrand?”

“Yes, that’s what she called him.”

Hawke’s jaw clenches. So, he’d gotten back to the city right before they did. There’s no chance he’s still here. She and Varric have been looking for him for months and found nothing. The evil man must’ve sold the idol and left Kirkwall a long time ago.

“Bethany asked him about you and your brother,” Fenris says, bringing her out of her angry thoughts. “She asked where you were and why you weren’t with him. He acted as though he didn’t know who she was talking about and brushed her off. She was insistent, and continued to question him, but he only avoided her more. I grew impatient with his act and took matters into my own hands.”

Hawke tilts her head. “Meaning?”

“I only lifted him by the collar, but he struggled as if I meant to strangle him. We were lucky Hightown was so busy or the guards might’ve heard his yelling.” Hawke lets out a surprised laugh despite herself, imagining Fenris effortlessly raising Bartrand up in a clawed gauntlet. The little fiend must’ve been so frightened. Good.

“Once he realized we weren’t going to let him go without answers, he told us what he might have believed to be true.”

“Which was?”

“That you were dead.” He meets her eye now. “You, Carver, and Varric. He said there was a Darkspawn attack and that you didn’t make it out.”

Hawke’s mouth drops open. Her shock is soon replaced with a cold understanding - of course Bartrand would say that, he left them in a locked chamber in an underground maze full of monsters. They might as well have been killed by Darkspawn, for all he knew. He might _still_ think they died down there, wherever he is.

But Bethany didn’t know that. All she knew is what he’d told her. And if she believed him…

“Bethany,” Hawke breathes, her hand going to her mouth.

Fenris nods. “She was distraught. I could feel the magic building in her and pouring out. Ice came out of her hands and sprang out of the ground. People were screaming and calling for the Templars. That only added to her distress.” Hawke can see it as if it’s happening right in front of her and her breathing goes shallow. “I had to let go of the dwarf and take Bethany away. There was nothing I could do about what she’d already done, but I could see she was trying to stop. I gathered that it would’ve been best to take her out of the situation to avoid more damage.

“We stopped in Lowtown and she managed to get a hold of herself. But by then it was too late.” He looks away again. “She was quiet. I didn’t know what to say. I just sat with her. For what felt like hours.”

“You stayed with her?” Hawke’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do. Eventually, Merrill showed up and I left. That’s everything.”

The world sways. She walks over to a bench and falls onto it, her legs practically giving away under her. She covers her face with her hands and breathes shakily. She’s not in any danger of making something explode, but she’s just on the edge of crying, which might be worse. She keeps breathing, past the knot in her throat and the ache in her chest.

Once she’s composed herself enough to speak, she drops her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

After a second’s pause, Fenris replies,  “For what?”

“For accusing you. For assuming you did something wrong when you did everything right.”

“I’ve already said that I understood your suspicion.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” She sniffs and wipes at her wet eyes. “I didn’t even consider...of course Bartrand would be destroying lives even when he’s above ground, the piece of--” She stops and takes another several deep breaths. Thinking too much about Bartrand is an easy way to make fire shoot out of her hands. Best not to risk it.

“I wish Bethany told me this,” she says once her fingers stop burning. “It might not have helped, but it would’ve saved me months of confusion.”

Fenris seems to consider her words before saying, “I suspect she felt foolish. She believed you dead and then you returned, alive, the very next day.”

“That wasn’t her fault.”

“No. But she may feel that way. Self-flagellation seems to be a Hawke family trait.”

Hawke looks up at him and smiles wryly. “You may be right about that.” She leans back on the bench and feels the long-held tension in her shoulders loosen, making her calmer, lighter. She hates that Bethany went through what she did and that it resulted in her imprisonment, but it’s something they can talk about in her next visit. Oh, Bethany will be getting _quite_ the earful.

“Thank you,” she says to Fenris now. He furrows her brow at her. “For protecting her when I couldn’t.”

His frown deepens. “I hardly did anything.”

“You tried, Fenris. That’s more than I would’ve asked from you.” She smiles. “Despite our differences, you were there for her. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that.”

He meets her gaze mutely before glancing away again, his stiff posture shifting. “Right. Well, I didn’t do it just for her.”

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t exactly _overjoyed_ to hear that you’d died,” he almost murmurs. “I considered it an...unfortunate loss.” He looks at her again, his face as unreadable as ever. “Bethany isn’t the only mage of rare ability in Kirkwall.”

Hawke stares up at him, at a loss for words. Fenris just looks back at her and it must be because of the setting sun plunging the city into evening, or the shadows of his face, or Hawke’s emotional whiplash in the last few minutes that makes his eyes look so soft. Those are the only explanations that make sense, anyway.

“Wow,” she says, blinking at him. “That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Was it?”

“Definitely.”

He lets out a brief, quiet laugh. “I shall endeavor to practice my flattery, then. With any luck, I’ll become better at it.”

She laughs, cutting it off short when the smile he directs at her makes her breath catch in her throat. It was just a second, just brief enough for her to cover up with a cough, but not so much that she doesn’t know _exactly_ what just happened. Her heart speeds up in that horrifyingly familiar way and she can’t look away from him.

_Oh, no._

She stands abruptly. “Right, then, I should get going. Thank you again and have a nice evening.”

Fenris points down the empty street. “What about your mabari?”

“She knows her way back.” Hawke gives him a quick, stiff wave as she sprints away, heading straight for Lowtown. She doesn’t think about what she's about to do. If she does, for even a second, she’ll panic and go home, and she _needs_ to do this while she still has the courage.

She strides into the Hanged Man and finds Isabela pretty quickly, drinking at the bar and laughing at something the barkeep is saying. Hawke walks over and Isabela’s attention moves to her once she gets close enough.

She gives Hawke an easy grin and her eyebrow rises at the look on Hawke’s face. She says nothing and waits until Hawke gets to her at the counter.

Hawke is breathing a little hard from the run and from nerves, and doesn’t really look at Isabela when she mutters, “Hi, um, do you want to...do you--”

“Speak up, Hawke,” Isabela says, sounding only a little like she’s teasing her, for which Hawke is grateful. Hawke closes her eyes and sucks in a long breath. She faces Isabela head on and finds her looking back at her, giving her that look that’s equal parts casual and piercing and the amused curl of her lips makes Hawke’s fingers burn.

She leans in and says very clearly and audibly, “I’m ready.”

Isabela’s smile widens. She turns to the barkeep and says, “I’m taking a room.” She slides a few coins to him and he hands her a key. She brushes past Hawke on her way to the stairs and Hawke follows, trying not to trip over her own feet.

They walk up the stairs and down the hallway to the pub’s lodgings in relative silence. Isabela goes to unlock the room when they get to it and says, “I really would’ve preferred to do this at your house. Always wanted to have a go on that glorious bed of yours.”

“Oh, well, we can go now, if you--”

“Nah. That’s too long of a walk, even for sex. This’ll do.” She pushes the door open and jerks her head to the room. “In you go.”

Hawke walks on unsteady legs and doesn’t really take in her surroundings as she enters. The door closes and she turns around in time to find Isabela’s arms reaching up to loop around her shoulders. Her hands hover over Isabela’s torso before landing awkwardly on her waist.

Isabela presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh, which is nice of her. “You alright up there?”

Hawke nods. “I’m fine, I’m just...I’ve never…”

“I figured.” Isabela smiles. “We can stop if you want.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Really?” Isabela tilts her head, looking skeptical. Hawke heaves out a sigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m willing, but I’m not sure what to do here.”

“Why don’t we start slow?” Isabela says kindly. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that alright?”

Hawke blushes and nods. Isabela pulls her down and she bends, closing her eyes too soon and endings up with her lips landing clumsily off-target. Hawke feels her breathe out a laugh and wants to pull away to apologize, but then Isabela moves her head just so and it’s perfect. Hawke’s tense shoulders loosen and her hands press more deliberately against her.

Isabela’s lips are so soft and the kiss isn’t anywhere near as demanding as Hawke might have expected if she’d ever been able to think about it for longer than a few seconds. Isabela is gentle and just a little bit teasing as she skillfully kisses Hawke to death. She very nearly succeeds, especially when Hawke lets her searching tongue in and kind of loses her mind.

After what feels like a wonderful age of kissing, Isabela pulls back, chuckling when Hawke tries to chase her lips greedily.

“Did you like that?” Hawke nods, arms going tighter around her. “Good. Now, then…” She slides her hands down over Hawke’s shoulders and chest, toying at the buttons of her coat. She gets a few of them open before rising on her tiptoes, her face stopping maddeningly close to whisper against Hawke’s lips.

“Let’s see what else you like.”

 

* * *

 

She ends up buying her mother the biggest bouquet of flowers at the market the next day. The merchant will be able to feed her family for weeks on the tip alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh i know i have a better ending in me but it's not coming. oh well it's done!! thanks so much for reading. please don't hesitate to leave a comment and tell me if you liked it! tell me that you hated it if you want sure i take any feedback lmao


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